Betty Lou

 it was in her eyes

that she could see all the beauty

that most would overlook

and she held all that beauty

within her prairie sky blue eyes

the sparkle that shone when

she first saw a young boy climb

from his family's wagon

and knew she'd marry him someday

that sparkle grew when 

that someday had come and passed

and both her heart and arms were full

with husband and daughters

and chicken dumplings on the stove

and hot rolls she'd make famous in the oven

the sparkle in her eyes grew

through the dark nights and loss in life

when her hands that had been baptized

in prayer, hard work and doing for others

had to let go to let birds fly, even to heaven

but she was always there to take care of

not only her own but the many lives

she had touched when she took up a nurse's torch

while the sparkle in her eyes stood watch

in the dark nights of others

the joy of rat terriers, church hymns, roses

and of course grandchildren

was a well-deserved treat

for her to savor when her body grew old

she watched as her grandchildren

had their own children

and seasons turned farm houses into fields

she watched with that sparkle in her eyes

as she said goodbye to that boy from the wagon

just a little over a year and a half ago

she sat and watched nurses do

what she had been called to once

and with that sparkle in her eyes

she still saw all the beauty

that passes most others by

Fuhrer Fear

his robes move within shadows

well in fact his robes are the shadows

light doesn't last long in his presence

and he savors the smoke of an extinguished wick

one can look into a mirror in the dark

yet never see any reflection of his image

the empty unmoving void within that image

could be said to be his true portrait

but no one has ever set eyes on him to know

yet any one could identify him in a split second

most say he wears a personalized persona

for each and every living thing in the world

perhaps for every thing not living too

though Beelzebub's death mask is a favorite

he wears all the crowns of the hellish thrones

and even the feathers of certain heavenly hosts

judgement is his scepter and ignorance his song

and once the very hint of his melodic tune is heard

his stealthily planted bomb will soon explode

when his victory is gained all are found guilty

for all have responded and played into his unseen hands

and just as the first light sweeps the dark from the land

he will have vanished with his feast deep in his belly

  

Last of August

 it's just the blushing maple leaves

that fall in this heated August breeze

that curl the hairs on his neck

that beckon back to the chilled moonlight

full crystal flutes he sipped from

in waiting to hear from the void of night

a distant, quiet voice called his name

luring him from civil slated order

into the wild ravages of the unknown

and he was pleased to succumb to the call

and fall just as these blushing red leaves

brush his cheek in this heated August breeze

Thirteenth of the eighth

 the blood slithers down his fingers

a nest of crimson serpents trying to find the floor

drip after drop

his image lays in pieces

where the sanguine splatters pool

the glass shards looking up at him

in the same shock and devastation

his attempt to pick himself up

has wounded him

the release and shatter are numbing

turning July sun

into December night

after each month in between

is slowly counted alone

in nocturnal rains and regret

he waits there alone with his shattered self

hoping to find some glue someday

 

Nameless

your eyes appeared in the glass

a flash of lightning in the mirror

reflecting into my chest

mine met you before yours

crashed into my gaze 

I was a sun licked lily petal

in the July sun

melting as candle wax

into the bleached grass blades below

my absent breath carried off

my heart in a waltz out the door

leaving my statuesque soul

in the grips of the moment

eagerly snared as we stared

into the tunnel of our recognition

it was over quickly in its eternity

and just as you came

you left as mysteriously out the door

taking with you my hunger

and your name 

African violets

 she grew these plants

with leaves that had the finest hairs

they were velvet to his touch

and most mysterious when he came to visit

his mother cleaned the grower of these plants

house, and the boy and the elderly lady often 

preoccupied each other while she did so

the woman's house was already

an intrigue to the little boy's mind

being situated near a pond with trees

that seemed more like a sea and jungle

to his young blue eyes

and the toys she had in her possession

were better than the other ones

he would find at the other houses

his mother would clean

I mean, she had a castle with

knights, and royalty, and even a dragon

but on top of that, she always had a bag

of chocolate chip cookies waiting for him

made by her own hands and put away for

special days, such as when he came to visit

and though his mom was there to work

he was there as a guest and made sure

to be on his best behavior

always listening to what his hostess had to say

and he remembers that talking softly and singing

to your plants makes them grow, still to this day

Owls

 the owls whispered something

in the night

the other night

in the woods where wind was dancing

the arms were reaching

and fingers trembling

between the trunks

and shadows lurking

the owls whispered something sweet

in the fire light

the other night

when neighbors were passing

down the street and vanished

out of sight

after the sirens had sung their song

and twirling lights had come and gone

the owls whispered their sweet ignorance

they already knew

before questioning who

 

Hitchhike

 it's just a moment

when all has dimmed

a flicker of sun flitters

through the trees

catching your light flesh

in the darkening world

I'd let you hitchhike

for now if you ask

the night is lonely

without the moon and stars

and this road, well

it just doesn't see many cars

and I'd give you all

the past again if you ask

the breeze still whispers

what we had missed

it's just a moment

when the final rays

settle on your eyes

blinding me to you

daring to step in the dark

so far away and out of view

I'd let you hitchhike

giving you my feet for your shoes

and my heart for your drum

letting you thump around

in a life we once had

The importance of windy days

 it starts with a tickle

on the back of your neck

the movement of those tiny hairs

in the slightest breeze

that arouses the senses

the stimulation just the same

to make you plant your toes

where you stand

when all the chaos swirls

around you

news of the churning plastic ocean tides

or pandemic fears

or children's tears 

in the face of starvation

or simply broken appliances,

flat tires, and speeding tickets

whatever the whirl the wind

will turn and shake you with

your toes have been planted

and those roots grow deep

and deeper yet with each

and every windy day

Pleased with pistachios

 he sits eating tree oysters

remembering the time

his mother would fill

a small glass vendor 

with a black cast iron leg

and red jacket and cap

from his first memories

she would always choose

the same hard tan beaks

with their jade green innards

to top off the glass tank

not very appealing to

his delinquent mind and wants

he much rather had had 

chocolate covered in vibrant

thin candy shells or the

same vibrancy in gumballs

but alas the mechanical thing

was diminished in his mind

due to these things he snacks on

these things that fill his break

with their tiny snaps of their jaws

revealing the gems within

though empty with some

leaving him feeling cheated

but still pleased with pistachios

Bloomfield

 I watched the marble

as it slowly rolled along

all the lines of your heart

the whiskey kissed words

that dribbled from your lips

might have been my 

preferred poison

but you set me adrift

in a sea

inside your glass

and I had no idea

how to tread 

there was such sweet release

in giving into those words

in breathing in that liquid

in sinking to the bottom 

of your chasm

the dark pit of you

I would gladly

douse with kerosene

and strike a match

Tristful dream

 the orchard was fully fruited

but once picked 

the peaches quickly rotted

the rot we drink

and are drunk on

and it keeps our eyes shut

doors to the heart and

windows to the soul

blanketed in ice cold

a bitter kiss of lovers

lost or family feuds or

strangers traveling through

the beds we seek comfort

in sleep or sex

or naps lapping our lives

licking away the days

left on these shores

waiting to be eaten by the sea

 

Pooled

 the chlorine aroma mingled

with heavy coconut tropical scents

of tanning oils and sunblock

and further was a wave of fruity taffies,

sugary powders and chocolate bars

even the wet hot pavement emitted

its own odor into the whole mix

the whole mix that only existed

in this sun bleached biosphere

of the summer public pool

where it seemed to erase boundaries

that once kept certain children

away from other certain children

whether it be age, class, or other

none of that seemed to matter 

in the cool, chemically treated waves

lifeguards and swim team coaches

headed up this family of the wet

and the major goal throughout all

the generations that had swam

throughout the many summers

is to graduate from the kiddie "puddle"

to the, gulp, taller than a giraffe high dive

and everyone mourned when new regulations

were the death of that fearful feat

for the mysterious depths of the deep end

were mysteriously no longer deep enough

who knew a concrete bowl filled in

with what everyone is teeming with already

would wash away the masks we otherwise would wear

Spring burn

 such a strange Spring

the tulips hold blood on their lips

while robins and larks cry murder

in the evenings the cold folds it hands

to pray throughout the night

the trees open their arms

to litter the streets with pleas

petitions to the far off sun

to burn away this old and

so very renewed injustice

the bare twigs are whipped by the winds

in hope that it will awaken

the sleeping mass with their feet in the ground

their pale oblivion keeps them numb

still so very chilled 

still so very untouched

still so very disconnected from the sun

ready to burn it all away

but the winter white will melt

and the rains will wash 

away those ashes

Scratch

 the scratching on the skin

some hungry searching hen

kicking up dust 

to the disgust

of those around

laying on the ground

they wonder why 

just can't let it lie

but it's when you dig deep

now that's something worth to keep

don't want to just eat worms

need something more than those squirms

something to feed the soul

that's why you dig the hole

that's why you pierce the earth

working from death to birth

to reach

to beseech

to anger the gods' wrath

asking for a blood bath

wrapped up in this life's words

just to scatter in a flock of birds

in your desire and lust

just to be something more than dust

 

Windowed

 his mind is very successful

in making memories more

than what they ever could have been

making those memories into fuel

to feed a wild fire within his heart

with burning crimson coals still to this day

he stares at the window as if it is

the fated one he lost to time

as if he could reach out and take that hand

in his own and feel the warm blood 

running through veins instead of

smooth stark cold glass encasing the gray sky

he hears the rain tapping on those panes

as the voice he longs to listen to

a breath whispered beside his ear

releasing all that was tangled inside

all that caused the great fall into the abyss

and pale feet walking into the dark

he would have gladly listened, gave anything

to listen to those words to take it all away

but there again his memories are more

than what they ever could have been

and the touch of the cold glass and

tapping rain's voice will have to suffice

Phantom pains

it's a turning under the navel

a slight jitter within the sphinx moth cocoon

their cold hands grasp onto your shoulders

always trying to hold what they can't

trying to feel something the wind

has swept away 

those letters of all those words

scattered on a breeze and cast into the blanket of night

but they still linger by sides

chilly breaths turning up hairs on necks

slight movements of their favorite things

sudden glances in reflections

moments caught over the shoulder

in the corners of eyes

where the tears collect and fall

for all the spring showers they danced in

escaping under towels and arms

where secrets whispered into eager ears

the same ears now perked to shutter

at the very same whispers

for all flowers fade

all petals fall

no blossom ever blooms again

Sniff

 the struck match

fire eating newspaper 

wood of pine or cedar crackling 

its essence through heat and steam

opening the door to home

after a week long trip

pulling sheets from the wind swung clothesline

stretching the outside air across the mattress

as sun heated linen unfurls sun into the bedroom

pouring water over man's best friend

as their oils try to ward off the shampoo sheen

first of daffodil cups to pour out its ambrosia

spring rains soak old wood and leaves

the fresh wet earth 

as mowers lay down the lawn 

head laying against lover's chest

as hair, soap, clothes and eau de toilette slowly dance before their eyes

fallen apples fermenting in the October sun

the closet that houses grandpa's tobacco drenched overalls

and granny's coat whose pockets held wintergreen gum

the kitchen after the sink drains from washed dishes

and the floor has been mopped with bleach water

and the oven has given up its hot rolls or ham or chocolate cake

the cold and promise of snow in the air

a glass of sun drenched ice quenched tea

the house when it is lived in

the house when it is not

Hun

 his is the same caress

on glowing white velvety datura cups

the chalices to toast Selene

held high in midnight glory

his is the breath flowing from

the shadows within the dark

to the neck

across the cheek 

the emptying of heat

the vacancy of comfort

surrendered to silence

enveloped in clouds of the mind

that soak the heart in fright

in night

in deafening stillness 

when even crickets halt their violin legs

his are the unspoken words

in suspended thought

that call all attention to primeval utmost

to what seizes flight

and gives into his unheeded tongue

Hulena

 she sings deep within the soil

beyond the muck of passing leaves

and sludge of befallen flora crowns

deep within the soil she sings

her unrelenting melody of change

its movement courses through 

the veins of the sky in early hours

breaking the gray stuffed ceiling

into countless crystalline droplets

deep within the soil her feet flicker

they are wicked flames in darkness

that reach beyond infinite walls

burning within heart, sap, and bark

her feet flicker deep within the soil

her green hands rise to heaven

praying to gods known before the stars

came to rest their dust upon the Earth

 as promises are kept in prayers spoke

those cold elders of northern shadows

bitterly scream and dare to crush

her green hands rising to heaven

In stone

 we left the paths of stone

washed clean with the blood of our feet

through fading fog

the sun reached out to hold our hands

but water's shadow held its warmth at bay

holding back the gilded day

still stands the fingers of the earth

promises of those ages gone

that for their loss they did long

to covet stone in its steadfast

carving names into it

the names still scarring their hearts

those cold stones still buried in their chests

yet now we left those paths of stone

where time has deceived by

wearing away and fading the memories

of names carved in steadfast 

of mourning rains drinking stone

Mr. Eight

he's been sitting in the corner for ages

wonder if he just feeds

on passing time

his aged threads hang loosely

around his legs

perhaps he's grown out of

the fashion they were spun for

a slight breeze makes him

shiver in his silk affair

yet the shadows of the corner

are to his liking

cold keeps him calm

biding as spindly spiders often do 

Eight years ago

 it was so late

yet it was the perfect timing

any second more 

we couldn't have suffered

I finally felt what it was to be you

and that you are so much more

and who knows who had 

the more daunting task

for you to impatiently wait

for me to impatiently drive

five hours into the north and dark

but our bodies met the bed

and when my forehead met your cheek

that bright spark lit up our eyes in the night

neither of us wanting to sleep

as this dream was too much to give up

savoring the sound of each other's breaths

we melted in our heat 

and waited for the clock to tell you

you had to get ready for work

the smell of fir and acqua di gio mingled

in our realization that morning

we had rescued each other in this life

The angels unaware

 the inked wings on your chest

glow in the reflection of the glass

if you couldn't have had them on 

your back this time around then

what better place than over that

ticker allocated with so many tocks

and people see the feathers you

shed, those many things that make

this fragile existence a tad better

everywhere you go you leave

that tell-tale trail in roaring

laughter, lightened moods, in

drained anxiety leaving calmer

spirits who have known you

as a patient and tentative ear

you had learned from some of 

the best in giving what you can

and knowing there are some

no matter how much you may

want to help, you just can't

those regrets may pool in your

far away stares or in the bottom

of the reflection in the glass but

the need and certain promise

there are so many more yet out

there you have yet to share a

warm chat or mere understanding

glance with, those and that is what

pulls you from your sleep and

into the place where you make a difference

Seluna

 her hair flows down from her shoulders

as the softest moonlight cast in the darkest of nights

it captivates in both shadow and sight

hinting at what may be there

and disclosing what is not

her countenance is whispery lace

a net of snowfall descending in the streetlamp

it is shocking to the eyes when it is met

it is cold to the cheek when it is touched

and is wet to the lips when kissed

she is barely noticeable at times

hiding herself away when she ends

yet when she is ready to begin again

she bellows out into bloom

putting the brightest of diamond twinkles to shame

silvery sheen and midnight blue she wears

beyond the evening she slips into the abyss

blessing dreamers until they wake

and lovers while they quake

yet she will only take the hand of darkness

to be her partner 

in her dance across the starlit celestial ballroom

Blood orange

 they scurried out of his hands

he raised his hands to motion them

as an uprising

he still speaks out of orifices

besides his mouth

and his reactive comments

are of gaseous sentiment

than intellectual notion

yet they scurried out of his hands

they were happy to

they were just the same

as any of his comments or actions

they were the mere manifestation

of all his toxic rhetoric

they gnawed on the ropes

binding hope with justice

their tiny claws left scars

on the marble columns

of all the places that 

should be thought of as sacred

and their relentless waves

left the streets littered 

with his legacy of deceit

for as plagues go

he knows how to spread them

all too well

Common

 I am the fern 

growing in the shadows

my unfurled fronds

sweep the floor

at the feet of giants

my bed is the moss

and rotting arms

of those lofty principalities

who could no longer

uphold their burdens

I feast on their scraps

as their flesh ages

withers and fades

to flake off and feed

the open mouth of the earth

though I'm lowly

men don't seek my bones

and I can survive the fell of the forest

when the giants who once shadowed me

can't

Word birds

 let the books flap their wings

as they pass over head

they litter the ground

with their words

each fumbled font filled pile

soiling the world 

that was once still and empty

and silent

but these writers rear 

their word birds 

in those coops kept highly

mounted on top of their shoulders

housed in caged-up crowded brains

the horrid condition of these

wretched beasts brings tears to the eyes

and unrest to the night and sleep

with poets, reporters, and authors alike

guilty of cruelty to random thoughts

for how are they to care for so many

how are they to capture and hatch

all the ideas that linger in memory's shells 

these cooped up feathered fiends 

have to be let loose when 

their numbers grow too great

and when they take flight

the sight is magnificent

though some may not always fly for long

while still others can result

in a library blacking out the sun

The waltz

the eyes peer down

it's momentary, but eternity

when it happens

the world surrounding 

is a whirling blur

and though it has all

the greatest glamorous frills

that gilded crowd has no importance

as with the glances

a warm breath descends

falling softly upon flesh

these moments are the same

for the heart as a light finger is

dragging along the inside of the forearm

hands grasp onto each other

for fear the music may fling

the bodies apart

but those eyes looking down

in every little glance

those eyes melt away any chance

of that ever happening

the gravity from them is stronger

than the unseen tether of 

the earth to the sun

let the fingers keep creeping

over the ivory keys and 

the hands keep pulling the bow

over the catgut strings

let the end of the song only

be the beginning

and the soles of the feet

lose all feeling

the intoxicating sway holds

fast to the trees in the evening breeze

and all is lost in the eyes

that peer down

 

Murder mystery

 it was dug up when the moon

was half there and half there not

they had been searching for it

in fact that was all they had sought

but once it was taken up and

removed from its earthly tomb

they had given up everything else

having no other life to resume

yet in that moment of discovery

when the height of the story loomed

all had come together to feast

and revel in that of the exhumed

but the glory still fades on

any ole thing that has come to light

and what was once elusive

can now easily hide in plain sight

for the table can be set so grand

full of feasts to account for in history

but experience and intrigue die

when knowledge coldly murders mystery

Daily ten

 crawl into the cave

the hollow of the mind

when the worries mass

have been swept away

a barren chamber echoes

the silence of eternity

nothing pools within

it ripples with each breath

the miniature tides carry

on the ins and exes of hale

with as much carried out

there is just as little carried in

this soulful excavation 

with its absent pitiful hole

was never the moment's goal

for the body is just a glazen bowl

it needs to be emptied when it's full

and needs to unbind the fluid soul

embrace the moon to throw it away

the ebb and flow will mediate

Rattled

there's a rattling inside

some sort of signal of bells

old, thinly hammered chimes

like those wrapped round bovine necks

the clanging, relentless

just within the ears

just beyond the brain

the bending of a joint

that's running low on cartilage

the clattering bones

which sing the same as trees

a groan in clanging chimes

time's escaping, falling

out like stones

rattling inside a shaman's rattle

the chiming of the earthly tones

the bells are ringing home

Unsaid

the numbness lingers on my lips

the stillness of your breath

when it used to heat my skin

those winter day endings

being lost in the sunset glory

framed by cottonwood elders

the numbness lingering on our lips

from the bitter cold's kiss

we always had wished more than this

yet now I only long and miss

those times when your eyes

were as endless as the western Kansas horizon

and when we danced in glances

passing each other's windows

feeling the knocking of the heart

yet kept to the stranger's fence

but savored every moment peering through it

both of us never finding the words

escaping our tongues as a tide of birds

still lost in all of what was there and unsaid

lingering in the numbness on my lips

A silent night

 lost in the smoke

as it flutters in the currents

rippling out into the air in the room

fading into its expanse

the spicy rum runs too smooth

over tongue, warming soft palette

and the great beyond

while its spirits rise 

and stir their own smoke

within cranial corridors

the night rain tickles both

the cold glass panes 

and ears longing for a certain voice

the crack of a memory 

as lightning thunders in the distance

being so evident yet so evidently unattainable

when life's warring tides have pulled apart

leaving absence in the numbing peace and despondency

ears still longing for thunder

whatever they can grasp onto in that vacancy of voice

In two breaths

 an exhale of awe into the descending night

in fading light and hue

in losing sight of you

in your presence fading from view

an inhale of exhaustive devastating sight

in hosting a vacant guest

in the counting of one less

in farewells to slumber rest

an exhale of falling downy frozen white

in mid-winter ponder

in mindless mental wander

in destinations off yonder

an inhale of a numbing, lamenting plight

in remorse of the unsaid

in paths where we were led

in grasping through life for the dead

Hold

 the disturbed soil isn't for you

that's for seeds to fall into

for rain to be cradled by

and for sun to crack into plates

you aren't below its surface

that's for worms to tunnel through

for roots to expand into

and for toads to slumber in

that box isn't your bed

boxes are for cargo or music

or miseries of this earthly existence

and no matter how deep the earth holds you

let me hold you deeper

you can breathe through my lungs

and count the days from the beats of my heart

you can clothe yourself in my skin

stare down your fate through my eyes

and when you finally tire 

you can lay my body down

to that ground you don't belong to

Dancing on a sword

 as the tarnished copper

ripples in the flowing gown

as lights line the pool

at the foot of the obelisk

as they are counted four hundred

for every thousand death

from this modern pestilence

as life folds itself in mundane

existence and is tucked in

by time's extraordinary hands

as the sun sets on devastating

disrespect and disruption

for dawn to rise on greater hope

as the world seems to be turning

a page in history with the next day

we are all dancing on a sword

we have always been dancing on a sword

and we will always be dancing on a sword

Should've, would've, could've

 my should've is a vine

slithering through my gut

when I heard you had 

spoken your last words

your feet were so pale and cold

when you took those first steps

into the dark

I want to grab your hand still

when I could've when we were still

so stupid, so misshapen, so weak

and so ready to bite into it all

I should've when we were alone

and stolen away to lay out 

in front of the starry abyss

on our backs on the trampoline

in the shadow of the house at night

where we could've watched the lights 

dance through the seasons

and where we could've poured out

all our troubles into those starry depths

as our heads laid ear to ear

listening so gently 

as the sandhills exhaled in the distance

I should've brought you out into those hills

and held your arms while you let your rage

explode from your mouth

perhaps your tears could've formed a sea

and I would've swam its waves with you

I could've been a reason for you to stay

hoping that I would've been enough

to keep your pale cold feet from taking those

steps into the dark

I should've grabbed your hand back then

when, when I could've